Lie in the Sound
by x-the-rising-x
Summary: It’s all her fault. She won’t let herself believe anything else. It’s her fault that their only daughter – their beautiful four year old – is gone. That, at 28, both Brooke and Lucas wish that they were gone instead.


**_A/N: _**Yes, I should be updating Soon Enough. But when inspiration hits you - it hits you. This is a one-shot.

**Summary: **  
_It's all her fault. She won't let herself believe anything else. It's her fault that their only daughter – their beautiful four year old – is gone. That, at 28, both Brooke and Lucas wish that they were gone instead._

_She's sobbing now – beating her fists into his chest, and he's letting her hurt him. She's screaming and yelling into him, pushing hard against him, needing something to erase the pain she's feeling._

* * *

**Lie in the Sound. **

_I am falling, say my name_

_And I'll lie in the sound_

_What is love, but whatever_

_My heart needs around_

_And it needs you too much now_

Her feet are lead as they drag her onto the ragged carpet of the waiting room. She collapses into her own lap – afraid that if she stands much longer she'll fall. No air is filling her lungs – her throat is ragged with every breath she takes.

The doctor is speaking but she won't listen to him. No, she can't listen to him. Because this can't be happening. She won't let it happen. Maybe if she stays low to the ground for long enough, she will eventually sink into the floor and disappear.

Forever.

_I'm so sorry. _His words cut through her like a knife. He isn't sorry. He doesn't know her pain. How many families does he have to bless with a speech like this everyday?

_You can see her if you'd like. _Brooke is terrified now. The world is closing in on her and every inch of her body is being pushed together. But she tries to pull herself together. She tries to stand. When she can't, she feels the warmth of a strong arm pulling her up. At least he's still strong.

But as he pulls her off the floor, she makes herself look at him. Tears of anger streaming down his face – his fist clenched tightly at his side.

The doctor leads them into the hospital room. An early morning light shines onto the tiled floor. Bright colors line the room, pictures, get well cards scribbled out by numerous kindergarteners. Dr. Seuss books are stacked up on the table by the window. A pair of fuzzy pink slippers sits next to the bed.

Brooke lets her eyes travel to the bed. Sophie looks like an angel – her long brown hair cascades down her hospital gown. She looks peaceful – serene.

According to the doctor, Sophie slipped into, what was most likely, a irreversible coma at 7:43 that morning. Irreversible. Brain dead.

Lucas has let go of her hand now. She takes the few short steps to the bed and when she gets there, she isn't quite sure of what to do. But she knows what she wants to do.

She climbs into the bed with her daughter.

The tears begin falling now – silently. Brooke wraps her form around Sophie's – careful not to get entangled in the tubes and IV's that the doctor explains are keeping her alive.

The doctor's have told them a lot of other things too. Stuff that Brooke doesn't want to hear. Like how the cancer was caught way too late, and that they could try Chemo, but it would just make Sophie sicker. And that she should enjoy the last month or so of her life.

That was a year ago. A year of girl's life, a girl who had been brought into the world by two 24-year olds who were so fiercely in love with what they had made, had been spent in hospitals, and in surgeries. And Sophie had held on – 11 months longer than anyone had thought she would.

They should have been preparing themselves. For now. For this day. Now the doctor is telling them that they have a choice to make. Or rather, follow through on a choice they made a few months ago. That if this ever happened – they would let her go.

They couldn't let a girl with such high spirits for the entirety of her short life live off of a life support machine – in a state she would never wake up from. It wouldn't be fair to Sophie.

Brooke knows that Lucas can barely look at her anymore – not without seeing their daughter. On those rare occasions that Brooke smiles now, all he can see is Sophie. Her dimples – her hair – her soft, fragile, porcelain skin.

"Brooke." She realizes that minutes have passed since she closed her eyes against her daughter's shoulder. She knows what Lucas is asking her for, by just the way he says her name.

She nods.

* * *

It's half an hour later by the time everyone arrives. Everyone in tears.

Haley's sitting right next to the bed, her hand smoothing Sophie's hair. Peyton is kneeling on the floor right next to Haley, tears streaming down her face, clasping the small girls hand in hers, as if Sophie were her own daughter. Jake stands by the door, looking absolutely crestfallen and terrified. And Nathan sits at the table by the window, his head buried in hands, his body clenched in sadness.

Brooke is sitting on the other side of the bed, still holding her daughter in her arms. And Lucas is right next to them, his hand clenched tightly around Brooke's.

Dr. Richards is at the machine, having given everyone in the room time to say goodbye. At first he had protested – only family was allowed.

_We're all family, _Peyton had said indignantly. And Dr. Richards shut up.

Brooke isn't sure she's ready at the moment that the doctor unplugs the machines. But as it happens, and he removes the various IV's from Sophie's skin and steps back to give them all a moment, a weight lifts from the room.

They sit like that for 2 hours and 24 minutes. Sophie breathes on her own for 2 hours and 24 minutes. And then…

"Time of death: 11:17 am."

* * *

She hasn't cried in almost 12 hours. Not since before they left the hospital. But now she's at the kitchen sink, scrubbing feverishly away at the dishes that have been there since the night before. And she doesn't even realize she's crying until her tears begin to soak the hem of her t-shirt.

She hears him enter the room, but doesn't turn around. He's speaking in a soft voice. Something about the morgue. And his voice is catching in his throat even as he says the words.

"Brooke." he asks when she doesn't respond. "Brooke?"

She throws the dish too harshly into the sink and it shatters as it hits the stainless steel. "_Fuck!_" She screams, ramming her fist into the counter.

Lucas comes up behind her now and gently takes her arm in his hand, turning her around. "Brooke," he says almost forcefully. "Look at me."

But she won't. She won't look into his broken eyes. She doesn't want to see his pain at seeing Sophie in Brooke.

It's all her fault. She won't let herself believe anything else. It's her fault that their only daughter – their beautiful four year old – is gone. That, at 28, both Brooke and Lucas wish that they were gone instead.

She's sobbing now – beating her fists into his chest, and he's letting her hurt him. She's screaming and yelling into him, pushing hard against him, needing something to erase the pain she's feeling.

And it's a rush of emotion – a rush of release, as she feels his lips crash down onto hers. And she doesn't even try to pull away. It's such a desperation – a kiss of two people needing each other too much to break apart.

The phone he's holding clatters to the floor, and he's pushing her up against the wall – his lips still on hers. His hand is gliding up her shirt, pulling it off. Her legs are wrapped around his waist, and he's crushing all his weight into her against the cool tile.

He unzips her jeans and yanks them down a she desperately kicks off his shorts. Their breath is molding together – her hair is falling into his face as she bites down on his lower lip. His tears are wet against her cheeks and she's trembling as he pushes down her underwear and undoes the clasp of her bra.

She doesn't feel any of it – not until he enters her without any warning – ramming her farther into the wall. And she cries out – unsure of whether it's from ecstasy or pure grief.

He's moaning her name into her mouth as he pulls out before entering her again. And her fingers dig at the bare skin of his back – her breath shaky against his own. He pins one of her arms above her head, and she isn't warning him of her near release. She arrives with a sob, not a moan, and collapses over his shoulder.

He follows her just moments later. He keeps her pressed up against the wall for awhile, his body racking with her sobs. And then he pulls out of her, gathering her in his arms and carrying her into their dark bedroom.

Laying her under the cool linens, he climbs in next to her. She tries to turn away from him, but he won't let her. He pulls her close to him, and feels her slowly begin to relax in his arms.

But her tears won't. She know he won't try to lull her to sleep, because he's crying too.

So he says the only thing he can think of to make her feel better.

"_Everything will be okay."_

She wishes she believed him.


End file.
